Even before I stepped outside for my now-habitual morning walk, I could see something was strange. It wasn’t fog I was seeing out my kitchen window — it was haze.
Once I walked out into that haze, I knew we were experiencing some sort of environmental something-or-other. It smelled smoky.
About halfway through my quick lap around the block, I passed a retiree walking down his driveway to get his morning newspaper, appropriately decked out in robe and slippers.
“You should really be wearing a mask if you’re going to be out walking,” he admonished me.
When I asked him what this haze was all about, he told me that it’s smoke from the Canadian wildfires, and it’s likely to be around for the next day or two. I thanked him for the information and assured him I’d check the news when I got home.
Of course, when I continued on my walk and turned the corner to face east, I had to stop and spend some more time in the smoky air to take a picture of the red sun. No filter.